


The boy in the window

by lostinfictionalworlds



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Completed, Klaine, M/M, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinfictionalworlds/pseuds/lostinfictionalworlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Kurt is a young city boy, living with his father and stuck in a mundane life, day in-day out life. He knows that he is different to people his age, and he knows that there is something else out there waiting for him, something different, something he may not or just may understand.<br/>A simple and sweet, lightly romantic coming of age story with a paranormal twist.</p><p>-This was my own original piece that I wrote a little while back. I received some really great, constructive and helpful advice for the original version of this piece and when I get the time I'll go back and make some adaptions to it to make it longer to be able to accommodate what's missing from it. I'm always happy to receive advice and support, and willing to work on and better my fics- it's what makes the process more enjoyable, I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boy in the window

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- So this was my own original piece that I wrote for a personal project a little while back. I’ve since been able to rework it a little, change the names and voila, we have our favourite boys with a touch of paranormal-ism ; )  
> I received some really great, constructive and helpful advice for the original version of this piece and if/when I get the time I'll go back and make some adaptions to it to make it longer to be able to accommodate what's missing from it. I'm always happy to receive advice and support, and willing to work on and better my fics- it's what makes the process more enjoyable, I think. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think if you can. Thank you.

Summer…

 

The first time that Kurt catches sight of him, the boy, it’s when he’s just a boy running through fields of greens and sun dried gold’s out in the countryside, laughing giddily as the wind catches his breath in his throat. The wind is whistling, accompanying the light tune of birdsong and the hum of nearby bugs and insects. 

 

It’s not like this back in the city where Kurt was born and raised and lives, the sounds are too loud and obnoxious, harsh in comparison to this, the sky between the overly tall buildings is mostly grey and the air thick with remnants of fumes and smoke and day to day city boredom. 

 

Kurt jumps and skips through long blades of glass, swiping at wild flowers with a grin on his face and not a care in the world. It’s a hot mid-summer’s day with a bright blue cloudless sky and a large blazing ball of golden glaring down over the rolling lush green fields and hills. Kurt runs and laughs with abandon, alongside buzzing flying insects and birds circling up above. The grass tickles his bare knees as he continues to run aware that he’s probably starting to broach the boundaries of where his dad told him he was allowed to venture to.

 

He quickly glances back over his shoulder, satisfied that he can still see the smoke seeping from the chimney pot from the rooftop of the old barn-converted holiday home that his dad has just purchased and renovated, off in the distance beyond the trees. 

 

Kurt’s excitement is still buzzing through his veins, excitement at the fact that Kurt gets to live here now, he and his dad. Every Summer, this vista of green and blue and sunshine will be his home, and then when the air starts to cool and when it’s grey and wet, they’ll head back to the city, they’ll head back to mundane, miserable reality. 

 

For as long as Kurt can remember, it’s always been he and his dad. He doesn’t remember his mother, he’s sure he had one and that she was lovely. Kurt suspects that he inherited a lot of his traits and personality, some of his features and the soft lilt of his voice from her. He loves his dad, they spend a lot of time together, but they’re not the same.

 

Kurt is not the same as a lot of people. But that’s ok because he doesn’t like to be the same, he’s not a sheep nor a follower. He is just him, lovely fabulous Kurt, and he likes that, and if that means he has to be alone for a little while in this harsh cold world, then so be it. 

 

Kurt chases the light afternoon summer’s breeze, ducking under broken and low hanging tree branches and dodging prickly bushes until he reaches an old battered fence at the slight decline of the meadow. The fence is weathered with cracked dried paint, broken pickets, and a small creaking gate which opens up to an overgrown garden. There’s a short cracked flag stoned pathway leading up to an old red brick farmhouse strewn with vine leaves and surrounded by wilting flowerbeds and an oversized tree in the corner with branches extended outwards towards the upper hand corner window.

 

Kurt balances his elbows, arms folded upon the faded white fence, resting his weight and catching his breath as he looks up at the old house, eyes raking over each rickety quaint feature. The farm house is obviously a non-working building, there are no crops growing in the fields over the hedge and no animals to be seen or heard. The front door is large and painted what looks to be once a bright blue, now cracked with the results of a bad winter and covered in grey streaks and mud stained flecks. The window ledges are the same wood and colour, and there’s a small pile of cracked roof slates lying on the grass to the corner of the lone standing house, where the tiles have obviously slid and fell from a bad wind.

 

Kurt’s bright inquisitive eyes widen as they land upon the small wooden ledged upper right hand window, just below the cracked gray drain pipe which hangs from the rusted red roof tiles, where a head of dark hair, black like a Raven’s wings, bobs upwards suddenly like a flash in the lower corner of the window, catching Kurt’s attention immediately. 

 

Kurt lifts his chin and watches as the head ducks down vanishing under the ledge behind the pain of dusty glass before slowly appearing again, and bringing up with it a pair of curious golden piercing eyes. Even from the short distance and slight dirt from the window Kurt can see that they’re the most exquisite colour, bright burning rims around orbs of black, centred between long dark thick fluttering eyelashes. 

 

Kurt has never seen a pair of human eyes quite like them, or a face or a person at all for that matter. He knows that his own eyes are quite the pair to behold, often described as ‘glasz’ like, large round orbs of bluey-green, paint splattered with light grey, ever changing and beautiful, but still not like these eyes that he just can’t tear his gaze away from. 

 

He gapes up at the window, his pink lips parting as he watches a boy emerge from below the window ledge, a boy who looks to be of a similar age, maybe a few years older. His hair is kept in short wavy ringlets atop his head, just bobbing at the tips of his ears with thick dark eyebrows drawn in pensively in an adorable looking pointy shape, and those bright eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Kurt’s face. Kurt gulps, his breathing hitching, he thinks that this boy is very handsome, maybe the prettiest boy that he has ever seen. 

 

Kurt raises a hand from its perch on the fence, tentatively higher into the air, stretching all five digits apart as if he’s giving the air a high five. He stays like that, still, with his arm suspended in the air for what feels like forever, his clear reflective eyes never leaving the pair of bright beacons up in the window. The boy in the window stands stock still, arms pressed to his sides as he watches. Kurt huffs out a breath and is just about to drop his tired arm, until the boy slowly starts to step closer towards the window, his hand lifts from his side and he carefully mirrors Kurt’s gesture. 

 

Kurt smiles widely and slowly starts to move his hand, lightly wiggling his fingers up and outwards and side to side, a crooked smile growing on his lips, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. The boy simply looks on in what seems to be wonder, like he cant comprehend what Kurt is doing, like he hasn’t seen somebody wave at him before, like he doesn’t understand why he would do that, why he would want to. 

 

Kurt is young in spirit and could be called a little naïve, wholly bright, inquisitive, exploring and adventurous, a jovial kid who enjoys making friends and making people happy, he doesn’t understand concepts or consequences, not yet. He’s your typical lightly layered chestnut haired, bright eyed boy with creamy pink skin like strawberries and cream, long limbs and a toothy smile that can stop you dead in your tracks. 

 

He continues to wave, grinning harder and shifting his weight on his feet side to side. The boy from behind the glass eventually starts to crack, his eyebrows arch and rise on his forehead forming a deep crease in the middle, his rouge lips slowly start to split and part and the beginnings of a pearly white grin form.

 

This causes Kurt to stand up straight, he arches a hand over his eyes trying to block out the sunlight so that he can see better as he looks up, squinting to look as hard as he can. The boy seems to find this amusing, his smile widens and he lifts his hand higher, copying the waving gesture that Kurt had made before. Kurt waves two hands up in the air at this, arms flying frantically above his head, his knees and spindly legs bending as he hops up and down happily. 

 

Kurt is happy that he appears to have made a friend, a friend for the summer, at least.

 

***

 

The next day Kurt goes back to the farm house around the same time, the boy is standing at the window, as if he’s already waiting for him, his eyes illuminate at the sight of Kurt approaching the gate which he leans against and extends an arm into a wide half semi-circle gesture, mouthing a ‘Hello’. He’s keeps his voice soft and smooth and quiet even thought there is nobody else around, and there is clearly a barrier of glass and bricks and cement between then boy and himself.

 

The boy grins and holds a finger up the window, he indents the word ‘hi’ with shaky letters into the crusts of dried dirt and dust on the pane of glass, making sure the letters are backwards and big enough so that Kurt can read them correctly. Kurt grins wide and waits for the boy to do something else. He hopes maybe that the boy will open the window or will come down to the door and come out and play with him.

 

Kurt crooks his arm inwards and out in an excited inviting gesture, pointing out behind to the stretches of land doubling up as their possible playground with his free hand, but the boy only looks on, still and silent. His smile starts to slip from his face and his fingers slide down from their brace against the glass. 

 

Kurt sadly leaves not long after that, unsure why the boy with the beautiful eyes and the nice smile doesn’t want to play with him. Maybe he’s not feeling too well or wasn’t feeling in a happy mood, maybe Kurt will have to try again another day. 

 

Kurt doesn’t return the next day, he wakes to find the sun is hiding behind the clouds and stays like that for the most part of the day. His dad takes him into a nearby village to run some errands and gets him to help out with some chores whilst the weather is cool. They spend the day together, making lunch and meeting the locals. Kurt doesn’t tell his dad about the boy in the window, or the old farmhouse across the meadow at all. 

 

When Kurt and his father return from a neighbours house gathering late that evening, the sky is like blanket of violet and navy covering the small village, and Kurt is made to stay indoors for the rest of the night. 

 

***

 

The next morning, the sun wakes Kurt up before his dad can get the chance, he hops out of bed and over to the window, cracking it open and loving the feel of the morning breeze on his face. He washes up and dresses for the day in short summer pants and a sleeveless shirt, he eats some bread and butter at the kitchen table downstairs and leaves a note for his dad to say that he’s gone out to play in the sun and fresh air.

 

The boy isn’t at the window when Kurt gets there. Kurt waits a moment and then another, he scuffs his shoe against the dirt trail among the grass, fists his hands into his pockets as he looks down at the ground, his brow furrowed. He notices a small rounded stone by his shoe and without thinking bends to pick it up. He feels the weight of the rock in his palm, rubbing his fingers against the rough texture before he balls his hand into a fist and lets the small stone fly forwards and up into the air, towards the corner dusty window.

 

Kurt doesn’t mean to use such force into the throw, he didn’t know that he could. Thankfully the stone only lightly taps against the bottom corner of the window pane and rolls onto the wooden ledge before rolling backwards and falling back down to the ground below. Kurt groans out loud, louder than he means to and is about to bend down to find another pebble when a flash behind the window catches his eyes. He stands straight and focuses all of his attention up at the window until finally the boy appears. Like Kurt remembers him, riotous curls, enchanting eyes like he has never seen on another person before and a dazzling, too white, too perfect smile.

 

Kurt spends most of the morning balanced on top of the old crooked fence, with his feet perched on the lower plank of wood. The boy is leaning towards the window, with his arms folded against the indoor ledge and his forehead pressed against the glass. Kurt scrunches his well crafted, neatly curved nose at the line of dust and dirt it leaves on the boy’s head and the fluff of his hair, but is placated when the boy ruffles his own hair with a wave of his hand and is left with goofy dizzy grin.

 

Kurt tries to talk to the boy regardless of what he already knows to be true, he mouths words, and cups his hands over his lips as if this will help him be heard. He uses his hands and fingers and inanimate objects which he finds on the ground to aid him with his story telling, but the boy just watches with wide amused eyes and a lopsided grin. Kurt points and makes gestures towards the window, trying to make the boy understand that he wants him to open it up so that they can talk, so that he can tell him his name, and ask what his is in return. 

 

Kurt bends and twist and manages to get a good a look up at the house, frowning when he notices that the window has no catches, there is no opening there. On closer inspection, Kurt finds that none of the windows have.

 

Kurt leaves when his stomach howls at him telling him that it’s almost lunchtime, and the sun rises higher into the sky. Sun and Kurt’s unprotected-skin has never been the best of or most comfortable combinations. He climbs down from the gate and before turning to run back out into the clearing he waves up at the boy, Kurt waits and within a beat the boy returns the greeting, with a slight downwards curl to his lips and sadness in his eyes. 

 

That night Kurt tosses and turns in his bed, the sun does not leave the sky until late and the air is still hot and humid, Kurt’s sheets and pillows are cool but not cool enough and the drapes are not dark enough to block out all of the residual light. Kurt ensues a restless sleep, with scissoring legs and kicky feet, flickering eyelids and dreams about bright yet darkening deep eyes and a breathtaking smile. 

 

***

 

The next morning Kurt sleeps in late, he wakes up and rubs at his eyes, he sits up and yawns and stretches and when he hauls his legs over the edge of his mattress, he hears a gentle patter against the nearby glass pane. He gets up and out of bed, runs over to the window and when he pulls back his drapes his face falls at the sight of the rain pour. Cascading from the sky in fast heavy rivets, exploding against the gravel and grass below as they fall. 

 

He finds his father downstairs reading a book, and when Kurt tries to look for a pair of boots and a rain coat from the cupboard under the staircase out in the hall, his dad shakes his head no, smirking and points to the coffee table where a glass of milk and a plate of cookies is waiting for him, the smell wafting over. 

 

The rain begins to stop a short while after noon and the clouds are greeted by a gigantic bright rainbow, paving the way for clear blue skies and a valiant sun. Kurt watches from the window with a hopeful smile and when his dad gives him a nod in agreement with an accompanied smirk, Kurt pulls on some old clothes and worn shoes and heads out into the brightening day.

 

It takes Kurt a little longer than usual to get through the clearing, the ground and the grass is soggy and the dirt trail is harder to make out. Kurt doesn’t want to get completely dirty so he patters his way onwards through the fields carefully, stepping over fallen branches and sliding past wayward bushes.

 

The garden looks to be a little waterlogged when Kurt peers at it over the damp wooden slats of the fence. He pulls a rag from his pocket and dries himself a spot big enough to perch upon, he looks up at the window and is surprised to find it clear. Clear from any movement or person on the other side but also clear from dirt and dust. The water droplets on the outer side are just drying up with the rays from the late arrival of the sun and the glass pane looks to be squeaky clean and reflective.  
The dust and the old layers of light grime and dirt and the remnants of the finger print letters have been wiped clean from the inside also, and when finally the familiar bob of dark hair and flash of enchanting eyes appears, Kurt can see him completely, like actually see him, so much better and clearer than before.

 

He’s beautiful, wholly, purely beautiful. His skin is unblemished, smooth to the eye from his face to neck, too marble like to be bronze-tanned and too sun kissed to be pale. His dark hair is a shimmering midnight black with light specks of auburn and brown up top and at the tips, and the lines of his face are defined, set and sculpted perfectly. Jutting cheekbones and jaw line, a well angled nose and plump lips tinted a dark pink, almost red.

 

Kurt has never looked at another boy the way he likes to look at this boy, the way he wants to. Kurt doesn’t spend a lot of time around other boys, or kids his age in general. The other kids back in the city and at school don’t hang around much, they don’t like to be around Kurt. Kurt knows this, he knows that he’s different, but he’s not hurting anybody, he just wants a friend. 

 

The boy in the window, stands close to the clear glass pane, letting Kurt get a good look at him, his eyes bright and unwavering seem to pierce right through the glass, boring right through into Kurt’s curious gaze. The boy starts to smile slow and wide, his teeth are crystal white, forming a grin as perfect at that of a Cheshire cat. The window maybe clear but Kurt is still standing down below and a few yards away, his visual of the boy is not perfect, but Kurt still squints and tries to lean further without loosing his balance on the fence, upon noticing two white dainty points dinting the soft rouge cushions of the boy’s bottom lip.

 

The boy seems to have no problem in being seen, in letting Kurt look at him, at all, he presses a shoulder against the window, seemingly resting his weight on one side and rests his brow against the glass as he peers down at Kurt, sitting on his garden gate. The two watch each other for a short while, the sky up above is clearing, white clouds shifting and the sun completely broken out from it’s grey start, Kurt feels his pink skin heat and prickle under the rays and a frown crosses his features as he tries to shift his position and shield himself. 

 

The boy seems to notice Kurt’s slight discomfort and blows hot air onto window, steaming up a perfect circle and with a finger tip lightly draws a smiley face onto the glass. This makes Kurt smile to no end, he hops down from the fence and wanders over to the corner where the large tree is rooted from the ground, lop sided. The boy watches him eagerly from the window, side stepping along with him, like a dog carefully guarding, and making sure his master doesn’t wander off too far. When Kurt is finally settled in some shade, he looks up at the boy to find him watching him carefully, almost intently, like he’s waiting for something. 

 

Kurt starts to talk, hushed gentle words, randomly for no reason other than wanting to share apart of himself with the boy, he knows that the boy can’t hear him, he knows that the boy won’t come out of the house, he can’t for some reason, maybe he’s not allowed to. But Kurt talks to him still, he introduces himself and looks up at him animatedly, he uses hand gestures and his eyes carefully to express his words in a way only Kurt can do without even knowing he’s doing it. Kurt talks to the boy as if they’re holding an actual conversation, he tells him things as if he’s waiting for a reply, before quickly moving onwards to a new topic. Kurt talks to him like he’s never been able to talk to anybody else before. Kurt confides in the boy, his likes and dislikes, his feelings, he talks about his favourite colour and item of clothing, the new recipe he learnt with his dad, his favourite song and even hums a small piece of it. He tells the boy about his love of drawing and promises to bring his sketch book to show him, he talks for minutes which turn to hours, without realising how much time has passed, he’s enjoying himself too much, for the first time he feels comfortable with somebody who isn’t his father. 

 

And what’s more, the boy actually looks like he’s interested, that he can actually hear what Kurt is saying. His eyebrows pull down and raise, his lips twitch and his eyes narrow, and they never leave Kurt’s face. It’s like he’s talking back, his face and body and gestures animate like they’re communicating without the boy actually opening his mouth. Kurt is very softly spoken, his voice is like a melody to those happy enough to listen, relaxing and gentle. Kurt likes the attention, he likes the feeling of somebody being interested in him, no matter the circumstance. 

 

Later in the day when the sun is starting to slowly lower itself in the sky, Kurt lifts himself to his feet and brushes himself down begrudgingly, he allows himself one quick glance at the window and one deep sigh with a small wave before trudging back through the sticky grass into the meadow. 

 

Kurt doesn’t see the boy blow a fresh steam of hot air on to the window pane and draws a new face, a sad one with an upside down smile, a one that matches his own.

 

***

 

Every day of that summer, that is dry and bright and warm, and when he is allowed to leave the summer house, Kurt visits the boy in his window. He visits him and tells him what he’s been up to that morning or the evening before. He tells him about his father burning the dinner and the elderly neighbour who came knocking on their door, having forgot where they lived. 

 

Kurt sometimes brings with him a basket of bread and cheese and crackers, a flask of juice, he sometimes brings with him his sketch book and doodles as he sits under the big tree and talks to the boy. Sometimes Kurt even finds himself falling asleep, content under the blue warm sky and in the company of the boy behind the glass, he allows his heavy eyelids to flutter closed for short moments, and when he opens them the boy is always still there, always watching with a look of awe and wonder, and something close to contentment.

 

During the last week of summer Kurt is startled awake through the night by a loud bang and crack, followed by a bright flash of light outside of his window which lights up his whole bedroom. Kurt has never liked thunder much and is not surprised to find his father standing in the doorway of his bedroom after the second thunderous roar which feels like the walls are shaking in its aftermath. They huddle downstairs on the living room couch under Kurt’s duvet and tell stories by torch light with mugs of warmed milk. The thunder starts to end just before the crack of dawn but the rain continues to lash against the windows and the stone walls of the house well into the next day and days after that. 

 

Its four days later when the weather finally begins to thaw out and Summer returns for its final hours. Kurt is allowed to step outside, only to find the natural disaster waiting for him, keeping him from his meadow and the farmhouse and the boy, his friend in the window. The storm had collapsed some trees and flooded some lanes and valleys and generally caused earthly destruction in its wake. Kurt helps his father and the other villagers clean up what they can, they repair snapped wires and broken transportation, they travel to nearby villages and help take care of what livestock has survived. By the time that Kurt is able to venture further afar the day is drawing to a close and Kurt knows he will not be allowed out much later, not with the darkening sky and the unpredictability of the weather.

 

The next day, Kurt wakes up early with a feeling in his belly he doesn’t like to place, he doesn’t want to name the shallow feeling, the feeling of hollowness and regret. It’s his last day in the summer house, he and his father will be travelling back to the city later that afternoon for work and school and Kurt only hopes that their return will be imminent. 

 

Kurt dresses and packs his bags, he cleans his room and takes off down the stairs and out of the door, without another final thought, off into his meadow and runs towards the little old farmhouse. The dirt tracks are starting to take form again and the flowers and grass are trying to re-grow and re-build. The air is muggy and humid and the morning weather though grey and dull is still bright enough to entice the sun to come out of hiding and crack hesitantly through the shifting clouds.

 

Kurt almost slips and skids into the fence with full force as he leaps past the uprooted plants and bushes still moist from the storm. He holds out both hands and braces them along the damp bark of the big tree as he catches his breath and allows his beating heart to steady. He peers up to the house, squinting his eyes hard to look through the windows as his breathing evens out and he stands up straight. 

 

Kurt waits, he waits and waits, he perches against the fence and kicks at the trunk of the tree. He throws pebbles and stones at the window and when Kurt feels the cool breeze of the late morning air against his skin, reminding him of time quickly passing he grumbles out sounds of defeat and agitation. He looks up towards the house one more time, looking into each window, his hands fisting at his sides in frustration.

 

Where is he? Where is the boy? 

 

With a huffed out breath, Kurt rolls his neck and looks up one last time as he takes a slow step backwards, his eyes shift from the old house over to the withered leaves dangling from the branches of the old tree above him, and just before he twists his shoulders to turn away, his eyes land on something, something different, something new.

 

There is a word carved into the bark, Kurt can smell the fresh chippings mixed with the foisted scent from the rain water, he lifts a finger and traces each sharp edged letter with a small building smile.

 

Blaine

 

The boy in the window, obviously has a name and his name is Blaine. Blaine has left his name for Kurt to find and to know, he’s left it there for Kurt because he can’t be there himself.

 

Although saddened that Kurt never caught a last glimpse of those bright enthralling eyes, those dark waves of hair and that dazzling pearly white smile, Kurt travels back to the city close to his fathers side later that day, with a small smile hiding at the corner of his mouth whilst he sleeps.

 

Whenever Kurt will next return, no matter how far or long away, he now has a friend, a friend who he made during summer, and his name is Blaine.

 

***

 

The following spring…

 

Winter was long and cold in the city, dreary and miserable and when the weather starts to thaw out and dry up Kurt’s father’s suggests they escape for a long weekend, Kurt cannot contain his excitement. The previous school term had been mundane and uneventful for Kurt, the same stuff day in and day out, he both likes and dislikes school a normal amount, no different to any other kid his age. Kurt is quiet in school, he keeps himself to himself though friendly and respectful, and can’t help but think that there’s something else waiting for him, something different out there, something better.

 

When they arrive, the house seems smaller somehow, the late night sky is dark and cool and misty around them and though Kurt is happy to be there, to be back, he can’t help but feel disappointed knowing that his father won’t allow him to venture out until the morning. Kurt has rarely allowed himself to think of the old farmhouse over the winter whilst he’s been gone. 

 

Blaine. His stomach fills with dancing butterflies almost rising up to his chest, every time he closes his eyes and pictures two darkly lit golden orbs stare back at him.  
He pushes all thoughts and excitement to the back of his mind, knowing he has to wait, he tries to not allow his hopes to build too high, Blaine may not be there.  
Kurt and his father make their way around the house, opening dusty drapes and flicking on switches and lighting candles. They carry their small set of luggage upstairs and make their beds, and afterwards sit in front of the fireplace with bowls of cereal and chocolate milk.

 

Kurt can barely sleep through the night, he turns between the cooling sheets, his mind whirring with active thoughts and mental images, stomach twisting with anticipation. He finally springs out of bed upon hearing the first notes of early morning birdsong as the sun slowly rises and spreads warmth into the room. Kurt dresses in the clothes he had already laid out for himself the previous evening and makes his way downstairs swiftly and quietly. He feels too antsy for breakfast, too nervous, too excited, his stomach feeling like knots bobbing up and down and around and round, his skin shivering though he’s not cold.

 

He tentatively makes his way through the familiar meadow, watching carefully as he goes, the plants and flowers he remembers from before dried and wrinkly, pushing their way back up from new and fresh roots, with the aid of the spring showers and sunshine. As he arrives at the end of the clearing and ducks and hedges his way forward until his eyes fall upon the brick building up ahead, the morning is growing warmer and bright, and the air feels nice upon Kurt’s bare skin uncovered from the short sleeves of his shirt and his ankles.

 

When he gets to the fence, his eyes immediately look to the letters carved into the tree trunk in the corner, happy to see them still there though it would have been almost impossible for them to disappear. He allows himself a moment to drag a finger over the rough texture of the bark, humming to himself quietly, he steadies his nerves and evens his breathing in his chest before finally looking up to the windows of the house. 

 

There he is. There. It’s him..

 

Blaine stands in the same window as he always has, he looks taller, or maybe his hair has grown, he stands deathly still, unmoving with eyes brighter than Kurt can ever remember them, positively glowing as they bore through the glass and down.

 

Kurt stands tall with his back straight, he licks his lips nervously, heart beating wildly in his chest as he watches Blaine watch him. Blaine’s eyes flash and his rosy lips part, he looks almost dumbstruck, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening, like he needs a moment to truly take in, to digest. 

 

Kurt raises a hand, fingers wiggling slowly in greeting, head tilted to the side, with flushed cheeks and his bronzed hair highlighted with ashen flopping to one side smoothly, windswept and silky soft. Blaine seems to come to his senses then, his eyes darken and widen before glowing once more, he breaks out into an almighty wide toothy grin. He presses himself forward, both hands splayed out wide against the glass, until his palms are fading white with the pressure, eyes and teeth flashing wildly.

 

Kurt spends the majority of the weekend with Blaine, sitting on the fence outside of his home, or backed up against the bulk of the tree trunk. He comes and goes with short intervals, bringing with him a backpack of items and supplies to see him through his visits with Blaine. He holds up some drawings that he’s been working on and flicks through his sketch book whilst Blaine watches eagerly from the window. Kurt talks and talks and as usual Blaine listens, or Kurt assumes he’s listening, whether possible or not, but Kurt is not stupid, nobody can be that attentive, not normally. 

 

Occasionally Blaine’s eyes will flicker around Kurt’s face, watching him talk and animate, they’ll travel downwards, down Kurt’s tall slender form and back up again. Kurt knows that he’s changed a little over the Winter, his body is lithe and growing everyday, he’s changing, older in all forms and aspects, he knows that he’s entering teenage hood and by Summer he’ll no doubt be a young man. 

 

On Sunday afternoon Kurt is balanced on the top slats of the wooden fence, chewing on a piece of fruit and telling Blaine about the time his father took him fishing, but he didn’t like it because he can’t swim, he had never been taught and had no interest in learning after a small mishap with some of the city kids and nearby water fountain, and was frightened of being so near to the waters edge. Blaine is watching with wide eyes, his expression stone like and serious, worried almost, but when Kurt’s tongue flicks out at the tip to collect a dribble of fruit juice from his bottom lip, Blaine’s eyes glaze and shimmer, he takes his own lips between his teeth as they curl up at the corners. Kurt has never seen him do that before, he thinks that he likes it. He smiles and uses a finger to wipe at his chin, as he continues to suck and chew on the fruit, when he’s finished he throws the core into the garden causing Blaine to startle out of his reverie and cast a disapproving look to Kurt with a hint of a smirk, leaving Kurt in a fit of giggles which lights his entire face, and Blaine’s.

 

As the afternoon grows later the Sun’s stay in the sky shortens and the air grows cooler, as the year ticks over between Spring and Summer it takes longer for the afternoon to fade into evening but today the clouds are starting to form and shadow earlier. Blaine seems to be a little agitated, he shifts restlessly from his position up at the window, his eyes constantly darting up to the sky, watching the clouds and the sun battle for dominance. 

 

Kurt watches him carefully, wondering what has him this way and why. The wind picks up and pricks at Kurt’s bare arms, a slight shiver runs through him as he brushes his hands over his skin and stands. The sun is still slightly breaking through the clouds and pouring through the branches and leaves and when Kurt looks up at Blaine he’s met with a look of utter frustration and something similar to despair. Blaine is pacing in front of the window, looking up at the darkening sky and the fading sun rays and back down to Kurt, like he’s urging him, willing him to do something, but Kurt can’t quite figure out what.

 

Kurt explains to Blaine that he has to go, as best and helplessly as he can, that he should be back in the Summer and that he hopes Blaine will be still be there, that he’ll be waiting for him. Kurt offers one last quick shaky wave and turns to leave, running back through the clearing before Blaine could make out the quiver in his lip and the sadness in his eyes. 

 

Kurt doesn’t get to see the look of longing and defeat pooling in the depths of the golden pair of eyes blinking wildly from behind a pane of glass.

 

***

 

It’s almost two weeks in to Summer when they finally make it back to their quaint idyllic home, Kurt’s father had business he had to intend to and finish up back in the city before they could leave and Kurt could not express his frustration more at the hold up.

 

The time flies, ticking away quicker than Kurt likes to think about, minutes become hours which quickly become days and before Kurt can fully acknowledge it, they’re enduring their last week. The weather has been hotter than Kurt can ever remember, the sun scorching and unforgiving, with dry cloudless skies and only the short welcoming gentle patters of rainfall. 

 

Blaine has seemed frustrated and agitated for most of the time they’ve shared together. He was of course elated to see Kurt appear from the clearing after so long without seeing his face, already standing at attention at the window, waiting for him with large rounded, lost puppy eyes, his face a picture of joy when they finally locked eyes and waved at each other. He would watch and listen to Kurt intently, much like he always had but there was always a look of defeat hidden in the depths of his eyes or a wistful, forlorn smile hiding behind his bashful grin.

 

Blaine has seemed to try and respond and react more, shaking and nodding his head, making wild hand gestures, small smudged finger drawings against the pane of glass. Kurt had long gone learnt to understand that Blaine won’t stray far from the window, he wont come to the door and he wont make any other form of contact with Kurt. There’s no questioning it, Kurt doesn’t think that anybody else lives in the house with Blaine, he’s never once seen any other form or shape or shadow passing through the glass. There is a lot that Kurt wonders about Blaine, there is a lot Kurt hopes to learn and know about Blaine. But Kurt wasn’t raised to judge or pry, he was raised to be kind and to accept, to understand that not everybody is the same, Kurt knows that better than anybody. 

 

On the last day they have together before Kurt must return to the city, Blaine is quiet and still, not moving or miming as much, just watching, drinking in every little last sight of Kurt, as if savouring him to keep in his memory whilst they’re apart. Kurt cant quite believe that its already been a year, since they first met and became friends, he wonders if Blaine knows how long its been also. He stands up and pulls the loops of his backpack on to his shoulders, tightening the drawstrings and patting down the crease in his grass stained crumpled shorts. Blaine stands straighter, bracing his hands against the glass, knowing what this means, knowing that Kurt is going to leave. He watches eagerly as Kurt pulls a small penknife from a side pocket of his rucksack and unsheathes the small metal blade. 

 

Kurt carves his name in small neat letters just underneath where Blaine had left his own name in the thick base of the tree trunk, he adds a little plus sign between the two names and finishes his work with a soft blow to the wood chippings. Blaine’s lips quirk at the sides, his pointed white teeth peeking out over red pillowed lips as he reads their two names written above and below each other. Blaine holds up his two forefingers of both hands and looks as if he’s holding the words gently between his finger tips, like he’s taking a mental photograph, squinting and ending the small gesture with a quick wink. Kurt laughs at this and nods his head in fond amusement. He flicks the pad of his thumb over the blunt edge of the small blade to push it back down into its sheath, but with one quick flash of a misplaced movement the blade slices through the top light layer of skin, just at the side of his thumb. 

 

Kurt flinches and hisses slightly, the cut is barely there, a tiny neat slice which only just raises a fine line of scarlet blood to the surface, just a little worse than a regular paper cut. Kurt sucks his thumb into his mouth as he digs the knife into his pocket with his free hand, he looks to the window with a shy embarrassed smile only to find it vacant.

 

The room and the shadows behind the clear pane of glass is dark and empty, with Blaine nowhere in sight. Kurt continues to suck his thumb clean, the digit pulsing and throbbing against his tongue as his heart races and his eyes search every window of the building. Kurt waits, he waits and waits for Blaine to return, he must go, he must say goodbye to him now, he can’t leave for the winter without saying goodbye, but Blaine never returns. 

 

With a regrettable sag of his shoulders and a soft whimper in his throat, Kurt slowly wiggles his fingers in a silent goodbye up at the vacant window and moves off, back out in to the meadow. He doesn’t turn back around, he can’t bring himself to face the bare nothingness that he has had to leave behind. 

 

He doesn’t see the pained look of despair on Blaine’s face as he hides in the shadows of the dark room of the old house. Blaine with eyes round and full and black as a raven’s wing, nostrils flaring and lips curled away from two pointed elongated canines. He would be almost unrecognisable to Kurt right now, with his chest pounding and his body thrumming and vibrating. Kurt is unable to know that his scent is deep within the boy’s nose, filling his veins. Kurt’s perfect beating heart, pumping loudly alongside the silence of the empty chamber in Blaine’s own chest as he watches Kurt walk away once more. 

 

***

 

The following summer…

 

Autumn and Winter come like a whirlwind, the two seasons blending together with wind and rain, sleet and snow and before long the bare trees begin to grow new and fresh green leaves once again upon their branches. Flowers begin to grow from the ground fresh and new and bright, springing from the soil and dirt with new life. Life changes with the seasons that bring in a new year and pave the way for a new Summer, there’s growth and expansion all around, including Kurt. 

 

As Kurt makes his way across the familiar track towards the old farmhouse he grins to himself, heart thumping in his chest, stomach dancing at the thoughts of seeing Blaine in just moments to come.  
It’s been almost two years since they first met, since they first caught eyes through the dirty pane of glass, since Kurt met somebody he can’t forget, he can’t keep from thinking about, no matter how many times he’s tried to shut it off and keep the boy from his memories and his dreams. He knows that it can’t be good, it can’t be normal to think of somebody this way, to feel a connection, an attachment to somebody whose voice he hasn’t even heard yet, or skin he hasn’t touched. Kurt can’t place it, he can’t explain the way he feels or why, he just does.

 

He and his father had never made it back here for Spring like they had the previous year, like he had hoped that they would do again, city life got in the way and no matter how many times Kurt had begged and asked there was no way to get here any sooner than the first day of Summer. Kurt looks forward to the years ahead when he can maybe come out here on his own, and his dad can join him later when he’s ready to, or maybe Kurt won’t wait until summer, maybe he’ll come during the icy depths of Winter or fall and wrap himself up in knitwear and leathers. 

 

Kurt bends his knees and ducks his head down as he hedges past a small tree leaning to the side and out of place, he’s taller now, his growth spurts keep coming and coming and he knows that he’s almost caught up to his dad who stands at six feet tall. He’s grown out of his baby fat, his bones growing and skin stretching over a tight lean torso, a strong chest and broad shoulders. His cheek bones sit upright and defined on his face, sculpting downwards towards an angled jaw line with a barely there line of fair whiskers. His piercing blue and grey and green eyes are framed with a set of light lashes and neatly lined fair eyebrows. He had his hair cut before leaving for the summer and the light chestnut wisps flop messily in an off-centred parting, swaying nicely with each small gust of wind.

 

As the old house appears in his line of vision up ahead Kurt feels an involuntary shudder, he’s excited yes, but it’s also been almost twelve months since Kurt has seen Blaine, and the memory of them parting ways is not a pleasant one. Blaine had disappeared from the window just as Kurt was readying to leave, just after Kurt had carved his name next to Blaine’s in the old tree. Kurt doesn’t know why Blaine had done that, Blaine had been smiling and then he was gone. Kurt will probably never know why, he’ll probably never understand, but he only hopes that he will get the chance to see Blaine again, that he hadn’t scared him away.

 

As Kurt remembers the last time he was here he tentatively approaches the tree, he brushes a strand of windswept hair from his face and smiles, small and shy at first and then wide and toothy when he notices the carving in the bark as he steps closer. Both Blaine and Kurt’s names have been underlined with deep indentations and framed as if proving a point, finalising and emboldened. Huffing out a breathless giggle he looks up, and there he is, ready and waiting. 

 

He looks older, he seems older, though nothing has changed much about his appearance, not from what Kurt can make out from his place out and down on the ground looking up through recently polished glass. His hair a gorgeous mop of dark browns polished with black, those eyes wide and bright like live embers burning through small dark pools, his chiselled face and stone like features are set in place, everything about him, is just how Kurt remembers him, only more, only better, more enhanced, more in-depth, rugged and beautiful. Kurt can even make out that Blaine’s wearing a short sleeved dark shirt, his thick neck on display joined by a strong set of collarbones setting into a wide chest and shoulder blades, and uncovering long thick arms as he braces them in a folded position against the windows ledge. 

 

Their eyes catch immediately and Kurt can’t help but grin at the obvious parting in Blaine’s lips, at the flash in his eyes as his gaze deep and dark and intruding drinks everything about Kurt in. They stand like that for what feels like forever, staring and smiling, watching, remembering and enjoying each other in their shared silence, and private and somewhat intimate moment, their space. 

 

Blaine holds his hands up to the window pane, moulding them into a half-circular shape that looks as though he’s framing Kurt’s face in his hands, even from so far away with wood and bricks and glass between them, as if his palms are cupping Kurt’s strong jaw and flushed cheeks, warm and cradling. As stupid and crazy and impossible as it may seem, Kurt can feel it, as he stares unwavering into Blaine’s smouldering eyes, he can actually feel his hands around him and his knees tremble at the thought of the touch. 

 

Kurt climbs up onto the wooden fence, ready to assume his position where he’ll hopefully be for the majority of the summer. He braces his hands against the wooden slats and bends his knees, making himself comfortable. He’s taller now, his body is heavier and bulkier with longer limbs and he can’t get the positioning quite right, Blaine watches him with a look of half concern and half amusement as Kurt shifts this way and that until he lifts a hand and braces it against the edge of a low hanging branch. 

 

An idea hits him. Kurt stands and shimmies along the fence until he’s reached the expanse of the trunk where there are an array of branches, short and long, both heavy and light weighted, thick and strong and some thin and brittle. Kurt grips his fingers around one rough branch and then another as he pulls himself upwards, his knees bending and legs and feet kicking out, hoisting himself higher as he finds balance against the dents in the bark, until he finally reaches one of the larger branches which is clumped between two or three other thick levels. 

 

Kurt places himself in a comfortable position, hands braced securely on the thick of the branch in front of him and legs dangling down on either side, his feet waggling in midair, brushing with the thicket of green leaves. He breathes out a sigh of satisfaction, mixed with relief, his heart thumping with adrenaline and anticipation as he looks up to Blaine’s window, now only a few feet away from him, their faces almost in level with each others.

 

The sun beams down through the crack in the leaves and braches overhead and the reflection bounces off of the pane of glass shielding Blaine from Kurt’s reach, and only then does Kurt notice the very subtle slight darker tint to the glass. He has to squint his eyes to see properly and shield his forehead with a cup of his palm, but the glass is very obviously stained a shade darker, transparent still but not clear like Kurt had originally thought or assumed. 

 

The cogs start to work in Kurt’s brain, his head tilted slightly to the side as Blaine watches him with a look of curiosity and fascination, watching him try to figure something out. Kurt looks up to the sky, squinting in the direct line of the sunlight and starts to slowly nod his head in understanding, his eyes rolling back to Blaine for confirmation. As Kurt grows older, his wisdom and knowledge expands also, Kurt has always been an intelligent kid, mature beyond his years but he mentally berates himself for not figuring this out sooner. Blaine must have a skin condition leaving him sensitive to sunlight, hence why he never leaves his home, the glass must be especially equipped and protective of sunlight. Or maybe it’s not just sunlight, maybe it’s the pollen or something in the countryside air, there are a number of reasons why somebody is to stay cooped up indoors twenty-four-seven. 

 

Kurt thinks about this, he can’t help but wonder why Blaine never opened his door and invited Kurt inside instead, maybe he can’t even do that, or although Kurt believes that they are friends they are still strangers in more ways than none and maybe it’s a good thing that their friendship has remained as distant as it is. Blaine could have left him notes, Blaine could have made signs, Blaine could have found other ways to talk to him, but then Kurt remembers the carving in the tree, the cleaned window and the steamed up pictures. Kurt wonders if maybe he should try to sneak away late at night, or stay out until after curfew, wait until the sun leaves the sky and the air clears, maybe Blaine can come outside then, maybe he can let him inside somehow.

 

As Kurt mulls all of this over his eyes catch on to Blaine’s who is watching him with a tilted chin and an expression almost worried, his eyes imploring Kurt, like he’s willing him, encouraging him not to think too deeply about it. And then as if he can read his mind, like he can see his very thoughts, Blaine shakes his head, slowly, side to side in short determined movements. 

 

Kurt tries to let the disappointment die in his chest, he cant expect anything from Blaine, he doesn’t know him enough to expect anything from him, whether the first time he seen his face was two years or two days ago, he still doesn’t know Blaine at all to be able to jump conclusions or assumptions. All that should matter to Kurt now is the way that Blaine is looking at him, the way his face lights up when he sees him, the way his eyes flash and his brow furrows and lips curl when he’s watching with an intensity that feels too intimate, too good. 

 

Kurt can’t believe that he never thought of the idea to climb the tree and come up here before, maybe if he had have had the idea before he wouldn’t have quite had the drive or the confidence to do it. Blaine looks amazing from this angle, even the tint of the glass doesn’t discourage the way he looks almost ethereal, his features sharp and even more defined, his smooth marble like skin and its unique shade not quite tan and not quite pale or pink. He really is a sight for sore eyes. 

 

Kurt spends the whole of the day up in the tree, across from Blaine, only climbing back down to the ground when his stomach growls wildly at him. The next day and the days after that Kurt makes sure to return with his backpack full of snacks and items to keep him going through long hours, where he resides in his tree. He brings a hat to shield his fair locks from the rays of the sun and laughs at the way Blaine looks at him when he’s wearing it. He brings a sun block lotion to soothe into his skin and tries to will his flaming cheeks to cool when Blaine’s eyes glow darkly at the way his fingers rub over the bulk of his shoulders and the strong calves of his bare legs. 

 

He continues to draw, sketch after sketch, pad after pad, talking Blaine through his artworks, why he does it and why he likes it. He even takes inspiration from the sights around him, the valleys in the distance behind the shattered slanted rooftop, the texture of the leaves and the bark from the tree around him, the Aztec like pattern of Blaine’s eyes as they bore through into Kurt’s own. 

 

Kurt surprises himself at how often he spends his time here with Blaine, at how comfortable he feels, at how much time flies without either of them realising, and the whole time that Kurt is there, Blaine never leaves his sight. He stands and he leans and he poses, he smiles and he laughs soundlessly and he frowns, he watches deep and intense and his presence is always there, unashamed, unwavering, Kurt thinks that he can feel how much Blaine likes to be there, with him.

 

Kurt’s father has made friends with neighbours and folk from the village now, there’s often dinner and drinks arranged at the local pub or at somebody’s house. There are day trips out into the countryside, fishing and hunting and horseback riding and Kurt is often left happily up to his own devices. His father has never really asked where Kurt spends his time when they’re here for the summer, as long as he keeps himself safe and healthy and happy then he knows his father will leave him be. Kurt is older now and has always been trust worthy, has always been a good boy with a strong head on is shoulders, he knows that his father knows that. He doesn’t know whether his father will ever inquire into his whereabouts, and if he does Kurt isn’t sure what he will say, probably not the truth. 

 

Nobody needs to know about the boy in the window, who has occupied Kurt’s time and his thoughts and his dreams for the past two years of his life. Something’s Kurt likes to keep for himself, something’s are too precious too share, Blaine is precious to Kurt. 

 

As summer begins to draw to a close, Kurt’s father asks if he’ll spend the afternoon with him, he doesn’t feel obliged to, though he wants to, even though his need to see Blaine pulses strong in his veins. His father and he had always been close and enjoyed each others company for as long as Kurt can remember, it has always been them, Kurt has never known any different, they’re all each other have. Kurt agrees to have lunch with his dad out on the grassy mound beside the back porch, with a blanket and a hamper of breads and cheese and sliced meats. They talk and laugh and listen to the sounds of the countryside as they drink freshly squeezed juice from beakers. 

 

Kurt hopes that he can still make it to Blaine’s house for a little while afterwards, even if just for a short time. The summer has been dry and hot, much like the one before but they had been told to expect a downpour of rain towards the end of the week with grey clouds and cool breezes, Kurt hopes that it won’t ruin the short time that he has left. The suns is still out, high and bright and the sky a misty blue, but the grey clouds are lurking in the distance, slowly forming their way closer and closer. 

 

And then his father tells him, his older, slightly wrinkled face turning from open and happy to downtrodden and regretful in mere moments as he speaks. He’s sick, has been for awhile and doesn’t wish to seek help. His father is stubborn and strong willed, traits which he has passed down to his son, whether used for good or bad. He wants to ride it out, see how long, how far he can stretch without weakening his self with notions and potions. He wishes to continue life, no different than he has before, work and live and enjoy and see and do as much as he can, while he can, he has no urgency to declare himself bed ridden, not yet. He wants to get better, and hopefully in time he will be, it may pass.

 

They argue, their voices raising and carrying in the wind which is picking up with the darkening clouds. Their disagreement continues, and Kurt knows that it’s just the basis of raw emotions running high and flying wildly with nothing to steady or grab onto. He knows that he will regret this later, and that he and his father will eventually hug it out and talk over mugs of cocoa whilst sitting side later that evening.

 

He feels the beginnings of the late summer gentle downpour patter against the hair at the nape of his neck and the thin fabric of his shirt, the weather reflecting the current mood and the atmosphere that the afternoon has turned into. Kurt lifts himself to stand, his body thrumming with frustration and as the drops fall heavy and harder, splashing against his skin, he turns and runs.

 

Kurt can hear his name being called and yelled from behind him in a familiar tone as his legs carry him further away from the their little home from home and through the first scatter of trees and bushes. He won’t be gone long, he won’t let his father worry that way, not in his condition, but he needs this time, he needs to cool off, to calm himself and collect his thoughts. He continues to run as the rain lashes down harder and harder and the sky above him swirls with stormy greys, darkening and fading any remnants of sunlight. His breath rushes past his lips in harsh intakes with each thud of his feet hitting the ground and soon he finds himself slowing and stopping, propping himself against a tree, struggling for breath and steadiness. His skin is flushed and cheeks rosy, his eyes glazed and as he looks around he notices that he doesn’t know where he is, he isn’t familiar with this part, he hasn’t followed his regular track through the clearing. The rain is coming down fast and steady now, soaking Kurt’s clothes through, his shoes clinging soggy to his feet, he knows that his father will not be best pleased with him and that it may result in punishment, it may result in Kurt not being able to leave the cottage and visit Blaine.

 

He gives himself a few moments and then straightens, he swipes wet strands of hair from his face and tries to clear his vision, tries to gain some form of concept of where he came from, in which direction he travelled but the constant downpour is making it almost impossible to see his previous tracks. The sounds of the persistent raindrops falling to the ground, springing off of trees and rocks and exploding up and off of the ground get louder and louder as Kurt tries a few steps one way before back pedalling and trying another route. He ends up side stepping in wide circles as he tries to navigate his way through the lashing rain and the cluster of the small forest he’s found himself in. 

 

There are sounds of water rushing and cascading in the nearby distance and Kurt racks his brain, trying to think of seeing any lakes or ponds, he isn’t sure, he tries to distance himself from water, has no need to know of any nearby waterholes. He decides to take off in a random direction, trying to distract himself from the sounds of the rain falling all around him and the cold sting in his eyes and against his skin. He struggles past bushes and hisses at the scrape of a twig sticking out, poking him just under his knee and grazing his wet flesh. 

 

He starts to hear sounds of cattle and wonders just how far he had travelled in the short space of time, he wasn’t sure that there were any cattle herds or livestock in this area, or maybe he just isn’t aware of anywhere but the meadow that he now labels as his and the house he knows to be Blaine’s. He aims to head towards the distant noises, maybe he can find shelter at a nearby farm and call for his father to come and collect him from there. The sky darkens and a rumble sounds loud and threatening up and in the distance, Kurt starts to tremble as he continues towards the sounds he can just make out over the coursing water.

 

A lightening bolt zig zags its way through the clouds followed by a loud crack and bang, Kurt hurries forward his strides wide and messy as he fumbles through wet leaves and bushes. Another crack and he stumbles forward, falling through a wedge of wildly overgrown hedges and into the next field where there is a herd of cattle all trying to form some form of shelter, next to a deep and dark murky stretch of water.

 

Kurt falls into the water, arm ands legs flailing as he struggles to keep himself above the waters surface, its deeper than it seems. It’s cold and dark and hard to stay afloat or try and find his way to a shallow area, with the lashing of rain coming down on him it’s impossible to do anything but thrash around in the water, and that is if you even know how to swim. Kurt calls out, a helpless almost wordless cry straining his throat and gargling in his chest as his head dips below the water once and then twice. The sky lights up again and the rumbles grow loud and louder still, the cattle continues to call at each other and the icy temperature of the water numbs its way through Kurt’s body, making it almost impossible keep his limbs fluid and in motion.

 

He closes his eyes, exhaustion taking over, his body numb from feeling and terror seizing in his chest, he thinks of his dad, how he wants him to be well and to be happy. He thinks of Blaine and those eyes, that smile and the way he imagines it would feel to be touched by him, to be held by him, to be spoken to and kissed with those plump silent lips. 

 

Suddenly he feels a stir of movement, a lap of water and then his head feels like its spinning, like he’s moving without actually lifting a limb. His body feels encompassed, cocooned with some unexplainable warmth and safe presence, though freezing to the bone and drenched, he feels warmer somehow, tightly pressed against something hard and solid, not cold, not water. His eyelids though heavy and sagged, lift lazily, fluttering open with every ounce of energy and coherence he still has in him, the world is blurring past his very eyes, shades of browns and greens and darkened blues and greys swirl around him with rushes of hurried wind. Before he can roll his eyes upwards his lids drop heavily, eyelashes drenched and matted fanned out against his too cool skin, now a sickly shade of almost grey. 

 

Finally Kurt zones out, his breath gushing through his lips with one last huff and his eyes roll back in his head underneath his tightly squeezed lids, his limbs heavy and pliant hang from his sides, as he feels his body jerk and bump with each movement that he doesn’t understand he’s making. 

 

The very last thing he remembers is his name, sounding more of plea ringing in his ears, the voice is deep and warning, steady and firm, it’s not a voice he recognises, it’s not a one that he knows or has ever heard before in his head or recollection but he feels it in his heart, he knows the voice in his heart, it seeps through and starts to warm him right to his core. It tells him to stay awake, it keeps him alive.

 

***

 

Kurt cracks his eyes open, and shivers at the strange sensation of his still cool skin wrapped in bundles of fleece and blankets. His eyes flutter closed and then open again, he hears the crackle of the nearby fire roaring with heat, and the low gentle voices in the next room. He shifts and recognises the feel of the fabric and springs beneath his body, he’s lying on the couch in the living area of his summer house, he’s home, and doesn’t know how.

 

“There was a knock and he was just lying there, out on the porch alone, barely conscious, soaked and dirty-” 

 

“He’ll be fine now Burt, he just needs rest and warmth for the next day or so-”

 

“Thank you doctor-”

 

The voices tumble over each other urgently and fade in and out quietly, Kurt instantly recognises the docile worried tones of his father and some of the neighbours in the nearby houses that he has become acquainted with. His eyes fall closed again and stay closed, whilst his body sleeps through the last shivers and trembles of his ordeal.

 

When he wakes again there are no voices, the fire is still crackling lazily and he feels warmer, less heavy, though his head aches a little and his skin still feels a little tight, he groans and shifts in his cocoon of blankets and opens his eyes to find his father watching him from the corner arm chair.

 

With trembling lips, Kurt tries to speak, his throat working furiously, gulping hard around dry stinging lumps, chest feeling tight and when words eventually come after some throat clearing they’re hoarse and rasped, barely there.

 

“Dad? I um-”

 

“You cannot do that again Kurt.” His temples throb at his fathers heavy, insistent words, widening his eyes as much as they can stretch in their heavy state, he can feel the heavy purpling bags under his lids, he tries again.

 

“Dad, it’s-I’m fine-” his father stands abruptly, closing the distance between them in the small room in two large strides and plants himself next to Kurt’s feet, his hands grasping onto his knees.

 

“You do not do that to me again Kurt, understand? I can’t lose you, not like that, you hear?” His father’s eyes are red rimmed and glazed, his voice cracking. Kurt nods, his dry cracked lips closed tightly.

 

“Where did you go? How did you get back here in that state? You can’t swim Kurt, what happened, what were you thinking?” His mind feels fuzzy and whirred, he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t know. He starts to shake his head, the movement becoming all too much, his stomach lurches and his brain feels too heavy in his skull. 

 

His dad leans forward in the chair and gently pushes Kurt back down to the cushions. “Ok bud, its ok, I’m sorry, you’re ok now, that’s all that matters, just rest ok, come on take it easy, it’s all ok.” 

 

A day passes and another, and then another, and on the third morning after the incident Kurt is finally back to his normal self, feeling fine and well and dressed in a loose fitted shirt and light pants whilst standing in the kitchen cooking eggs for his father. They enjoy brunch together out on the porch, taking in the sun as it spreads out over the grassy golden fields in the horizon. Kurt finishes his meal as his father sips at his coffee, quietly reading the morning paper, his glasses ducking low on his nose.

 

Kurt’s throat lightly restricts, his eyes shift over the meadow out in front and back to his father, he knows what he needs to do, what he wants to say, but he just can’t. He can’t lie to his father nor does he want to put him in a position of worry or turmoil again, they’ve talked and resolved any remaining underlying issues, they’re good again now and both wish to enjoy the remainder of their summer in peace as always. 

 

So he says nothing, he doesn’t tell his father that the night before he dreamed of almost drowning in a lake of cold thrashing water, with thunder storms up ahead and a flash of lightening clouding his vision mixed with a flash of golden, darkly lit eyes. He doesn’t tell his father that he remembers now what had happened to him and why, he thinks he knows how he survived and why he was saved. He’s certain that he knows who. It’s like a part of his brain, his memory has opened up, like it’s been allowed to, like there’s some other point of control there besides his own.

 

His father has been keeping a close eye on him and expectantly so, they’ve went out to the village together, visited with neighbours, enjoyed meals and games together and not once has Kurt been allowed to venture off out on his own. They will be leaving tomorrow, it will be the last day of summer and Kurt has to make one last visit before they leave, he just has to.

 

He can’t leave for the rest of the year without seeing Blaine one more time, without talking to him, saying goodbye, without thanking him. And not underneath the unforgiving sun and the protective surrounds of Blaine’s home. He needs it to be real. Kurt wants to see him, actually see him, touch him and smell him, he must know, he must know that what he believes is actually reality.

 

That evening Kurt lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes as wide as saucers as he blinks up into the dark room, lit with the pale glare of moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window. He hears the faint sounds of snuffles and a light snore coming from down the hall, he waits for a moment for the sound to grow heavier and louder and then throws the covers back from his still dressed body, and reaches for his shoes waiting under the bed.

 

The shimmy down from the window is a task made easy by the perfectly placed slanted porch roof and the heavy duty drain pipe, snaked along the roof and down the side of the house. Quietly and quickly he makes his way across the meadow, his sneakers catching in the blades of grass with a rasp and the chorus of chirping crickets and birds of the night to send him on his way. The weather has been hot and dry all day, and the resulting midnight sky is a lovely sight, the air clear. 

 

It feels like a lifetime ago since he’s last been here when Kurt makes it through the clearing, he steps forward quietly, carefully moving plants and bushes from his path, the garden is beautiful in the pale glow of the moonlight. The whole place looks different somehow in a different light and at a different time, like something from a dream, from a fantasy. Kurt even lightly pinches himself just to make sure. 

 

The house is lit in the faint ivories and silvers, mixed with dots of stars in the navy blanket of the midnight sky, the old flowers are trying to re-bloom, the grass wayward and springing up this way and that. The whole sight is enchanting, the whole atmosphere is, with the still of the night and the rustle of the branches with the twit-too-wooing of owls up in the trees, preying down on field mice down in the long blades of over grown grassy fields. 

 

But nothing, nothing is quite as enchanting, as enthralling, as magnificent as the sight that Kurt finds his eyes fall upon in front of him. There up against the bulk of the old tree, their tree, a mop of dark hair highlighted beautifully in the pale night, ruffles upwards towards the carving of two familiar names. Two iridescent eyes blink open and lock on to Kurt, lustrous, Kurt stops in his tracks, his breath hitched in his throat, he can’t pull his eyes away as his feet slowly start to carry him forward without paying any mind to anything rational or coherent. Blaine doesn’t even look shocked or surprised to see Kurt here in person without the shield of his house between them, almost like he’s been expecting him, waiting for him.

 

A delicious tremor runs up and through Kurt’s body as he reaches out a slightly shaking hand and unclasps the mechanism from the garden gate, the latch comes undone with a creak and springs open. He doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t stop to think that he’s never been on this side of the fence before, he’s never been this close. Kurt steps forward and into the wild ruins of the garden, not even watching where he’s going as he makes his way closer to the old tree. 

 

He stops and hunches downwards to kneel as he gets to the base of the tree, his shoes planting into the grass on either side of two bare feet, crossed delicately at the ankles which are exposed by the hem of a pair of light fitted trousers. Kurt’s eyes trail up the familiar body, laid back and loose against the trunk from bottom to top, a dark shirt clings to a tight muscled torso and bulging arms, exposing a thick corded neck line, collarbone and shoulders. 

 

Their eyes catch on to each others once more, a deep blue steely gaze to a familiar dark golden glow. Blaine is unnaturally beautiful, he almost doesn’t look real, his chest laying deathly still, skin smooth and shimmering in the moonlight. Kurt cant find any words, he wants to speak, he wants to say so much, he wants to do so much, but he cant find a way to do anything other than stare, open mouthed with his heart feeling like its pounding up in his throat.

 

“You shouldn’t have come here.” That voice, rich velvety smooth tenor, it’s that voice that spoke to Kurt in his haze, when he was just a heartbeat away from a watery demise, Kurt knew that he knew that voice even though he hadn’t even heard it before, the voice that feels wrap around him, subconsciously, in his dreams. Kurt’s gaze drops, his eyes latching on to Blaine’s mouth, those lips, red and rounded are opening and closing and saying these words to Kurt, words so soft and endearing, but also firm and deep, causing a chill to send gooseflesh flying through his lightly haired forearms. 

 

“W-why-” Kurt can’t even finish the sentence because he’s suddenly lifted into the air and deposited back down to the ground with a whoosh and a gentle thud, his back against the tree trunk, effectively swapping positions with Blaine in less than three seconds flat. His wrists are pinned to the bark by his sides, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, he lifts his chin, willing his throat to open up and swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. 

 

He hears a groan, deep and growl-like, guttural and suddenly Blaine’s face is just there, right there. His sculpted nose just a brush away from his own, those eyes, like something he’s never seen before boring into him.

 

“Because I, I-can’t stop myself from feeling, from wanting-” Blaine’s cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth and Kurt does not miss the two very obvious pronounced canines, splitting his perfect lips. He is otherworldly, his voice is deep and powerful and Kurt longs to hear him talk to him more, to talk to him forever. 

 

Kurt has never known anything like this before, he has never felt anything like this before, he didn’t know that he could, that it was possible. He likes it. There is a feeling pooling low in the pit of his stomach, a slightly unknown feeling that he wishes to call desire thumping with every pulse of his heart beat and his veins under his shivering skin. He tentatively raises a hand, feeling Blaine’s grip around his wrists loosen weakly and uses it to curl around Blaine’s strong shoulder, more for balance if anything, his other hand snaking up around Blaine’s neck and up to his sculpted jaw.

 

The air around them is thick and heady, deeply scented with arousal and want and need, pure desire and an unmistakable love. Kurt does not know what these things smell like or what they feel like, but he knows what they are. He knows that this, right now what he’s feeling, is what they are.

 

“Kurt-” Blaine’s voice is deep, a hint of warning, eyes flashing wildly. “You must-”

 

“No, I’m not, I’m not going, why do you want me to go, don’t make me go.”

 

There’s a whimper, a sound that is almost pained. Kurt tightens his hold and blinks up at Blaine, steady and sure, he knows that there is something not quite right, not quite normal here but be damned if he’s going to start thinking rational now. He starts speaking again, slowly, quietly, carefully. 

 

“I know that you’ve been listening, that you can hear me through the glass, that you understand what I’m saying, I see the way you watch me and the way you linger, I-I know that it was you that saved me from the water that night.” Kurt watches as Blaine’s eyes dart around his face, listening intently, taking everything in, he licks his lips. “I know that you’re different, it’s ok, I am too.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widen at this, his lips quirk, “You’re not different like I am.” He states, quite matter of fact, “you’re much too perfect.” He says on an exhale as he tilts his head to the side, he lifts one palm to Kurt’s face and brushes a thumb gently over his skin, the other palm lifting to rest heavily against Kurt’s chest, just over his heart.  
Blaine taps a finger against the side of Kurt’s head gently, “You’re much too smart too.” He says quietly with a grin, “perfect in here,” he taps again and then wiggles the fingers of the hand resting against Kurt’s beating chest, “and in here, you’re whole, you’re perfect. You deserve everything, much better things, bigger and brighter.” 

 

Blaine’s words are enchanting, Kurt doesn’t understand, he doesn’t believe, perfect is not a word that he would use to describe himself but he can’t help but listen and nod along blankly. 

 

“B-Blaine, I- ” Kurt licks his lips and swallows, his words dying on his heavy tongue. Blaine tracks the movement that his throat makes and then there’s that sound again. Blaine ducks his chin, his nose pressed to the underside of Kurt’s jaw and the hollow of his throat. 

 

“I can’t bear to say goodbye you again, now that you’re here, like this, in the flesh.” Kurt shivers with the feel of the words, rasped against his skin, with the slight gentle graze of something sharp, something his mind is telling him to be weary of, but it’s Blaine. Blaine is talking to him with a voice so yielding and words so breathtaking, he’s touching him and holding him, warm and steady and Kurt forgets to think or feel about anything else but Blaine right here, right now. 

 

“Don’t then.” He says, his voice quivering, as he turns his face and presses his nose into the dark waves near Blaine’s temple, eyes sliding closed with the feel and the scent, so natural, so indulging, so rugged and manly. There’s another slight nip against his flesh, and a wet slide of tongue lapping lazily over the pressured point where his pulse beats in his veins. “Please. Don’t say goodbye to me, you don’t have to, I don’t want you to.” He whispers.

 

Kurt feels the softest brushes of lips against the hollow of his throat, it feels like a promise, a trail light and fleeting peppering up his jaw and finishing at the corner of his lips, his heart beats wildly with each touch, each brush and graze and he can hear Blaine’s intake of breath with each beat.  
“You don’t have to do that you know.” Kurt says with a tone of bravery in his voice he wasn’t aware that he had. 

 

“Do what?” Blaine’s eyes are lit, flashing with mischief and something close to disbelief.

 

“Act like you’re not different, like you’re not,” Their eyes lock on to each others in that moment and Blaine stares at him, with parted lips, just a brush away from his own, his features hard. “Like you’re not h-human.” Kurt’s voice cracks, he swallows hard trying to regain some composure, he didn’t think he would ever be able to admit aloud what he was frightened of thinking all along. 

 

Blaine’s fingers thread into the soft hair at the nape of Kurt’s neck, an action both gentle and secure, his face suddenly breaks from sorrowful and stony, into a long wide grin, something Kurt would describe as wolfish. He brushes his nose alongside Kurt’s a gesture that makes Kurt feel weak at the knees and melt inside out. Blaine tilts his head, there’s a questioning look in his eyes but a sure and steady smirk is also settled on his lips. “We’re never saying goodbye?” 

 

Kurt exhales in relief, a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding, he feels his heart expand as it beats wildly. “Never.” His voice a whisper.

 

“Never.” He repeats again whilst shaking his head slowly side to side. Its crazy he knows, strange and weird and bordering on impossible, but he’s so sure, he believes it, he knows that it’s the truth. “Thank you.” Blaine looks at him curiously. “Thank you for saving my life.” 

 

Something dark and daring flits across Blaine’s features and flashes in his eyes, he tightens his hold on Kurt, as if staking his claim, proving what’s true and what’s right and what’s his. His eyes dark and pulsing with flames and life falling to Kurt’s pink parted lips, puffing out short shallow breaths, his head and face following until their mouths finally meet in the barest, softest of teasing brushes. 

 

“You shall never find yourself in times of trouble again my love, not ever with me.”

 

***

 

Some years later…

 

The journey seems longer than how it usually feels, the roads weren’t too busy, that’s the good thing about travelling at night, there are less diversions, less obstacles but the journey did feel a little tedious nonetheless, at least he’s here now, he’s here and he won’t have to make the journey again.

 

His father fought hard for many years, and for the most part he was fit and well if not a little tired or breathless at times. They had continued with their trip out to the cottage every summer and sometimes spring, or even a nice fall, even if sometimes his father was undeniably bedridden or could only spend long warm mornings or cooling afternoons, out on the porch in a rocking chair.  
When Kurt was done with school he helped his father with the business, though it wasn’t something he particularly wanted for himself in the long run, he travelled and worked long and hard hours, supporting in anyway he could, anything he could do to make his fathers life just a little easier. 

 

The end was short and thankfully without pain, and that’s all Kurt could have hoped for, for him, a happy life which ended in the comfort and presence of family with minimal suffering. The numbness and the pain and the grief that Kurt feels in his chest, subsides a little with every thought, every memory of the conversation that he’d had not long ago. His chest feels lighter knowing that he won’t leave anybody that way, it won’t be like that for him.  
Life in the city has been settled and sorted, the business is now in good hands, there is nothing there for Kurt now, nothing that his heart beats for. 

 

When he arrives, the summer house can be seen from the end of the dark narrow lane, the windows lit with dim candle light, his heart thumps with pleasant anticipation in his chest, as he makes his way down the gravelled pathway, shivering with the late night summer’s breeze.

 

He trudges up the steps onto the front wooden stoop, his fingers releasing the stitched leather bags in his hands as he makes a fist to knock against the heavy wooden door, but the door opens first, as quick as a flash. There’s a frantic whir of movement and Kurt suddenly finds himself already inside, the door closed behind him, and is laid out gently among a bed of patchwork blankets and cushions along the wooden floor boards of the cottage’s living room beside a gentle crackling fire.

 

Hours later Kurt lies with his head resting against a bare muscled chest, bodies covered in cooling sweat and drying splodges of warm soapy water, relaxing, coming down from a sated high. Their bodies shaping and melding against each others naturally, with blankets strewn all around them, covering the sharp edges of bare hip bones and the fleshy mounds of calves, thighs and sheer back muscles. Kurt’s shoulders are wrapped in a tight embrace and he can feel the vibration of the words before he hears them.

 

“Are you ok?” Kurt lifts his head lazily, his eyes are hooded as he looks down, he threads his fingers through a mane of dark hair and kneads at the scalp he finds underneath. 

 

Blaine looks up at him, as gorgeous as ever, he hasn’t changed, in all of the years that have passed, he’s still the same, though Kurt has since learned that this would be the case. With his eyes both bright and dark, eyes that no human can possess. With lips full and rounded, hiding a set of teeth, so white and dazzling, so dangerously yet enticingly sharp and breath taking. Kurt knows that Blaine doesn’t age, he can’t, not really, but his body does change and shift slightly, only it takes a very, very long time to do so. With each season that passes and each winter that leads to a new year, Blaine’s face and body remains a perfect sculpt of all muscled perfectly handsome man. 

 

Kurt has loved taking the time to learn about and indulge in and explore Blaine and his history and extraordinary supernatural ways. Blaine doesn’t need to breathe oxygen, but he pretends to sometimes, just to fit, just to belong. He can’t stand in direct outdoor sunlight but he likes to watch the rays and the way it reflects over the landscape from the safety of indoors, behind specially enhanced glass panes. He enjoys being out in the moonlight, his body relaxes and gives, allowing him to be him, under the pale faded light. Blaine doesn’t need to eat or drink the things or the way that a ‘human’ would, but he can if he wants to. 

 

He hunts at night out in the safety of the sheltered woods and empty meadows, his only company being the other creatures of the night. Though he doesn’t need to all of the time, his prey is only small, though sometimes a good full feed can last him for weeks at a time. Blood in any form, fresh or not, is and always will be a seductive weak spot for Blaine but he has ways to control his urges, to tamper and satisfy his needs, even the slightest drop can leave him sated for short periods of time. Kurt has become very willing and eager in helping with this, be it just a nip here or a small scratch and a drop there, nothing close to what Blaine would like to take, but never would, not yet. But anything that Kurt has to offer is enough, will always be enough for Blaine.

 

Blaine isn’t able to do anything spectacularly out of the ordinary apart from a mild form of mind control, when he can take peoples thoughts and manipulate them into memory or dreams. He hasn’t had to use them in quite some time, he doesn’t necessarily like to, but it has proved handy in some situations. Like in the beginning when he wanted Kurt to know him without really knowing him, and when he had decided that it was time for Kurt to make his own assumptions and choices. 

 

Blaine’s own kind have developed over thousands of years and generations. He is the only one of his kin left in this state, in this area at all, living in his old farmhouse for as long as he can remember, with no real desire to leave or try to find more of his own. It’s like he always knew, always knew that Kurt would one day come along, like they were destined, Kurt’s fate was destined to be with Blaine, in whatever form. 

 

Blaine is very rare, not entirely unheard of, but mostly and sadly not very warmly welcomed or accepted among the general population. There has always been folklore and old fishwife tales about these things, but many have opted to believe that such things are impossible to exist or can be co-inhabitants of the same world.

 

Kurt knows only too well, what it’s like to live in a world where he feels like he can’t quite be himself, where he can’t be safe, where he’s not accepted. 

 

Even though Blaine’s heart does not beat lively in his chest, Kurt still believes that he can feel it under his palms and his cheeks, when they’re locked in a tight embrace, or tangled in each other’s naked bodies. Kurt knows that it’s there, big and warm and his own name is stamped all over it. 

 

Blaine’s fascinating in every way and Kurt will never not be in love with him. He nods his head and leans in, pressing his lips to Blaine’s in a soft brush as he speaks. “Yes, I’m ok now.” 

 

Blaine nods his head in silent understanding, his hands sweeping up and over Kurt’s torso. He never met Kurt’s father face to face sadly, he couldn’t, Kurt wouldn’t risk the exposure or the strain and worry it could have caused, for either of the most important men in his life. But Blaine knew him still, he knew how much they meant to each other and often wondered many a night as he held Kurt in his arms in his bedroom whilst his father slept obliviously next door, if he would like him, if he would have deemed him worthy for his son. Blaine doesn’t believe that anybody ever could be, but he will spend his immortal years trying his best. He has sent out a silent promise to wherever Kurt’s father may be resting peacefully now, that he will always look after him. Kurt will never grow ill or old or weak, Kurt will always be fit and healthy and strong, safe and loved, always loved. 

 

Blaine twines his fingers around Kurt’s neck and gently pulls him down to him, he slots his lips in the crease between Kurt’s jaw and collarbone, where his heart pulses with life against his throat. Blaine kisses the spot over and over, teeth grazing gently. 

 

He whispers, just audible over the crackling of the fading embers from last night’s fire. “Are you ready my love? Are you ready for a life time with me?”

 

Shaking, with eyes fluttering closed, Kurt whimpers, hips rutting downwards as one simple word, so sure, so true spills from his lips, “Yes.” The three most obvious words, do not need to be spoken, they are shared, they are heard, in many forms, every second of every day. 

 

The early morning summer sun, cracks it ways through the front window and pours down into the room, onto their bodies as they writhe against each other. Kurt smiles at the feel of the warmth, knowing that it’s diluted and that Blaine is safe behind the protective tinted glass panes that had been fitted to his summer home, their home, not just for Summer, not now. 

 

He feels the words ‘finally’ and ‘always mine’ whispered into his skin before the undeniable feel of two sharp points pressing gently at the pulse point of his throat, he groans and gasps, his body shivering with pleasure mixed with a hint of delicious pain, though not an ounce of fear, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he’s making the wrong choice. 

 

Kurt fell in love with this man, one summer a long while ago, and he’ll be in love with him for many summers more.


End file.
